


Your Friends and Neighbours (Enemies Cost Extra)

by Snegurochka



Category: Harry Potter - Fandom
Genre: Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-01-08
Updated: 2007-01-08
Packaged: 2017-10-05 23:56:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,637
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/47414
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Snegurochka/pseuds/Snegurochka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Four couples, four betrayals, and one rather significant stab at revenge.</p><p>~5,600 words. NC-17. Infidelity. Written for the January 2007 themes of 'adultery' and 'smoking' at daily_deviant.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Your Friends and Neighbours (Enemies Cost Extra)

**i. the black family fortune**

James Potter is a married man. The woman on her hands and knees underneath him right now, taking his cock in deep and gasping through red-tinted lips, is not his wife.

This is where the story begins.

Every week for the past ten (twelve? twenty?) she has opened the door for him and pulled him inside, bolting it shut behind him before pressing him back against it and clawing at his clothes before he can even say hello. It's just as well, since he finds that he doesn't much want to say hello – or talk to her at all, really.

She's like a sorceress with honey on her tongue, and he's afraid of what he will agree to if he lets her talk too long, so he shuts her up fast, capturing that poisonous little mouth with bruising kisses from the first second they're alone.

It's her shoulders that usually finish him, and no one could be more surprised than him. She knows what she does; it's carefully calculated to lure him. Just a drop of a strap down her shoulder, and he is lost.

He reaches for it, tugging hard to get it off, to get to the skin underneath. She swings her hair and it falls in waves over his fingers before she turns her head to the side and bites at him, tugging a finger between her teeth and pulling his shirt open to scratch her nails down his bare chest. His finger swirls in her mouth, her hot tongue laving it before she closes her lips around it entirely, sucking gently as her mouth curves in a triumphant smile.

"Gryffindor's golden boy," she murmurs as she releases it from her mouth and grasps his wrist, dragging him to the bedroom, forcing his hand under her skirt and pushing his fingers into the pool of thick wetness he finds between her legs. "You shouldn't be here, of course," she breathes and his lips fall open, panting hard as she forces his hand up her cunt.

"Shut up," he growls, feeling her throb over his fingers, and she only smiles, that maddening, _knowing_ little smile, but he knows it's an act. He knows she couldn't stop this any more than he could right now. Her husband makes her lie on her back and spread her legs like _nice_ women do, and his wife hasn't fucked him since Harry was born.

The reasons are endless, and so are the excuses, but none of them matter. There is no excuse for this, no explanation, and no way to stop it now that it's begun.

One time she lied to him, trying to play the virginal aristocrat game.

"I've never done this before," she cooed, right before taking his cock in her mouth. She faked it well at first, nibbling a bit too much, pretending to choke, all of that business. But she had done it before, and she'd done it well.

She did that thing with her tongue, swirling around him like he was candy, as though she could suck until he melted like sugar in her mouth. She craned her neck and gazed up at him, and if she loved him he might have said he saw some kind of stars or sparkles of adoration in her eyes, but he knew she didn't, so all he saw were eyes. She looked at him with _eyes_ – blue ones, round ones – and there was never any special message for him in them.

He pushed a bit harder. If she was going to lie and tell him she had never done that before, he was going to call her out on learning her lesson.

If only it were that easy. She knew what he was trying to do and she wouldn't let him. She snaked a hand up and teased his balls and that did it, he couldn't punish her anymore by drawing it out because he was coming between those scarlet lips and pushing on the back of her head to make sure she swallowed it.

She didn't, of course. No one could make that woman do anything she didn't want to do; he should have known that. She wrenched away from him to sit back on her heels, paused to glare up at him, and then spit come all over his shoes.

Most of their trysts go something like that.

He pulls his fingers out of her cunt now and pushes her back to the bed, flipping her over and frantically pulling his cock out. She glares at him over her shoulder but then drops down to her elbows, raising her hips and her arse back to meet him despite the insults dripping from her mouth about _stupid fucking Gryffindor cock tease_ and _treats me like an animal_ and _my husband is the most powerful man in the Dark Lord's circle_…

He sinks into her and she stops murmuring, only a long, slow moan slipping through her lips, and he's instantly enveloped in heat. She is forbidden, she is sinful, she is delicious. She is warm and tight and wrong for him. She wants him to taint her, _stain_ her, fuck her like her husband won't and leave _Gryffindor_ come dripping down her thighs when she returns to her holy manor and her high-buttoned life.

He flexes his hips and pumps into her, feeling his cock swell the second she whispers, "_Harder_," in that scratched, desperate voice, and he can't refuse, he has to see this through. He'll stop next week, he promises himself. He'll talk to Lily and change his shift and never come here again, but tonight – _oh God, tonight_ – he gets this, he's _allowed_ this, a woman who fights him tooth and nail until anger bleeds into a passion so raw it snakes through his blood and blinds him to all rational thought.

She's a vixen, she's not human, she will swallow him whole and he will never be able to find his way home again. She calls him _Potter_ when she calls him anything at all, the word spitting from her mouth with loathing while her cunt pulses around him. She comes hard from his cock alone, clenching around him in thick ripples and groaning the way he knows she's not allowed to groan at home, and he pounds into her, bent over her back with one arm around her narrow waist.

"Get off," she begins to murmur with increasing irritation. "Get off get off _get off_," and he doesn't know if she wants him to stop or to come, and anyway, he can't do anything but the latter at this point.

"Fuck," he groans, her blonde hair thick in his mouth as it falls down her back, and it smells like everything Lily's doesn't. He empties himself inside her, one arm holding her in place and she squirms, pushing back and taking every drop of come he pulses out, hot and thick inside her and no more than she deserves. No more than exactly what she's asked for.

Narcissa is what he's been missing, that's his only explanation for all this. He can't resist her fury, her insults, or the way the smooth muscles of her back writhe underneath him as she at once struggles to get away and pushes back harder over his cock. She is a _challenge_.

Just like Lily used to be.

***

**ii. _toujours pur_**

He's in the house before she even hears the lock slide open. She can feel it. Her spine tenses and her lungs stop working – just for a second, just for the flash it takes her to remember the last time he was here like this, stealthy and silent through the front door and then hot and hard inside her a moment later.

She and James really need to tighten the security on this place.

"I know you're here," she murmurs with a smile, wiping her hands on a dish towel and turning around. Her eyes have time to scan the empty kitchen before a dark head peers around the door with a mischievous grin.

"What do you think you know?" he asks playfully, sauntering into the room in denims and a threadbare t-shirt, a _Weird Sisters_ logo fading from view over his chest and the dark green of the cuffs digging into his biceps.

Her breath quickens. "I know you shouldn't be in my house looking like that," she says, eyeing him.

"Like what?"

"You know."

"Pretend I don't." He moves closer, backing her against the counter. "What do I look like, Lily?"

"A rogue charmer," she says with a laugh. "A womaniser."

He pauses at that. "Womaniser?" he mutters, his fingers stalled at her waist. "You're the only woman, Lil, you know that. Only one I've ever–" His face closes and he grips her hips, pushing against her with sudden insistence.

She shouldn't have said that – oh _God_, she shouldn't have said that. She knows she's the only one. She knows what it does to him inside, the fact that she's the only one even though Remus should be the only one, and every Tuesday when James is supposed to be on surveillance and Remus is God knows where, Sirius comes here, to her. He clutches at her in deep handfuls and inhales her, burying his face in her hair and his cock in her body.

Because she's the only one.

But there are some things they just don't talk about, _can't_ talk about, if this is to continue.

_This can't continue_.

"Where is he?" he asks gruffly, breathing hot on her neck.

"Out."

"With her?"

"Shut up, Sirius," she warns. "Shut up, or get out of my house."

"I'll take that as a yes."

She plants her palms over his chest and shoves him off her at that, anger burning her fingertips. Her chest heaves and her eyes blur and he watches from across the kitchen as she raises a hand to her face and wipes it over her features. "It's all he talks about anymore," she says quietly. "How many _Malfoys_ were at the last Ministry gala, how everything would be fine if only we could catch the _Malfoys_, how Harry's just about the same age as that _Malfoy_ kid…" She frowns, her chest caving in as she hunches her shoulders.

"So, maybe it's Lucius he's fucking," says Sirius, but he's not teasing her anymore.

She looks at her feet. "_Can't believe how much those Black sisters have changed since school, Lil_," she says, mocking her husband's voice. "Considering that one lives in Surrey and one's batshit insane, no, I don't think it's _Lucius_ he's fucking."

She raises her eyes again and looks at him, the fading light from the window bathing him in dark orange. He lets her look, and she's calmed by the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest.

"Come here," she whispers, holding out a hand. "Please, just–"

He's across the room in two quick strides, his body warm against hers and his hands clenching in her hair. "_Lily_," he breathes against her mouth and she tugs at his t-shirt, pulling him against her because he's the one who loves her, the one who understands what she needs and how she feels when no one else does, especially her husband.

Her hands are under his t-shirt, gripping his chest as though she needs his skin to anchor her, and she feels his nipples harden as the cool air of the room sweeps up his body. A tremor runs through him and he gasps, lowering his lips to her neck and burying his hands in her hair, inhaling her and warming her and not pushing harder than she can withstand.

Her body heats as his lips move down her collarbone, fingers fumbling at her blouse and pushing through two, three buttons before he gives up and teeth bite at the edge of her bra, nudging the fabric over her nipple and leaving her gasping and panting against the counter. She's wet after two more tugs, his mouth hot over her breast, and she feels the burn begin deep inside her, the ache for touch that always leaves her breathless in his arms.

"I need–" she sobs quietly, unable to say it out loud because saying it out loud means they're _doing_ it, and doing it means too many things she can't think about right now, like James and Remus and the war and – no, don't think about it. They never talk about it, never say out loud what it is they do the nights that James isn't home, and Lily knows that the second they break that rule, the spell will dissolve over her head like a rainbow disappearing into storm clouds.

"I know," he murmurs against her skin. "God, I know, just don't–"

"Shh," she whispers desperately, and he lifts his head to look into her eyes. It comes all at once then, like a crashing wave. He kisses her hard, his lips chafed and rough and warm on hers, his tongue gently sliding over her own as his hands come under her skirt and he pulls them both down to the floor, crumpling in a pile of flesh and need.

He frees his cock from his trousers, shoving them down as far as they'll go, and then pauses to pull the _Weird Sisters_ shirt over his head and toss it aside. When he pulls her into his lap and sinks inside her, his head falls back and he squeezes his eyes shut. She knows that he's trying not to think about it, either, that if he doesn't look at her then maybe he's not doing this, and it makes her watch him all the more.

His face has more lines than it should for their age, creases across his forehead where his hair falls as he thrusts up, pushing her off his hips before letting her raise herself off and slide back down, his cock anchored inside her. He is beautiful to her because of the danger of him, desired because he's forbidden, loved because he loves her back. That's one thing she knows for certain.

"_Lily_," he chokes, his arms wrapped around her, and she rocks against him slowly, feeling the pressure build inside her and the gooseflesh crawl over his spine under her hands. He comes with a broken moan, stilling inside her and gently pulsing, his eyes still shut tight as his head falls forward to rest on her shoulder. Strong hands slowly unclench behind her back, turning into flat palms that glide over her in soothing, possessive motions.

She doesn't come. She doesn't want to.

They stay folded together on her kitchen floor for a long time after his cock slips out of her. His head is buried in the hair falling over her shoulder, his hands rub her back, and her eyes watch the shadows creep over the counter top from the rapidly setting sun.

*

 

When Sirius arrives home, Remus is on his back on the sofa with a magazine, one foot dangling over the edge and one fingernail absently tugged between his teeth. His eyes flick to Sirius for only a second before dropping again, and all Sirius can think is, _You used to be the only one_.

"Come on," says Sirius roughly, jerking his head towards their bedroom. "You look like hell. Get some sleep." He pulls a packet of fags out of his pocket and lights one with a pass of his hand, inhaling deeply and letting the smoke wash the guilt away.

"Yeah, in a minute," says Remus, chewing his nail and scanning the page, and Sirius wonders when he stopped noticing that Remus's hair has grown so long. "Just reading this. Aw, in here?" he adds irritably, casting a disapproving glance at the cigarette as Sirius takes another long drag.

"Yeah, in here," Sirius says, drumming his fingers nervously against the door. "Okay. Just." He pauses because there isn't really anything left to say, and because Remus isn't listening anyway. He wipes a hand across his mouth, tasting Lily on his tongue and steadying himself against the door frame. Whispers of her tear through his mind, back arched and lips parted as her body trembled underneath him, and he wonders how it can be possible that Remus doesn't know.

He heads down the hall, mashes the cigarette into the wall, and goes to bed.

***

**iii. rain and falling**

It's hot and it's dark, and if only his wrists weren't tied behind his back, Remus reasons, he might have a chance to grab his wand.

If that was actually something he wanted to do, of course.

"You promised not to move," a low voice murmurs in his ear, breath hot and lips brushing so close they make Remus's entire body convulse in a wracking shudder. His skin is so oversensitised he can feel every hair follicle down his arms and legs, and the ones at the back of his neck are the real traitors – raised and searching and shivering every time a strand of dark hair passes over them or a low, oily voice purrs instructions that slide down his spine.

"I didn't move," insists Remus, his breath coming in heavy gasps as he eyes his pile of clothes across the room. "Why is it so hot in here?" he mutters, swallowing thick air.

A finger trails up his forearm where it's lodged behind his back, up over his shoulder and around to his chest, where a thumb joins it and a sharp pain at Remus's nipple pours hot lava through his cock from the inside. "It's not that hot," the voice continues, rolling the peaked nipple between thumb and forefinger as Remus bites back a moan, "but your body seems to think so. I wonder why that is?"

Remus squeezes his eyes closed and tries to control his accelerating heart. He doesn't want to talk, especially not about such mundane things as the fucking temperature in this rotted room. That's not why he comes here.

"Your body seems to think it's in control, doesn't it?" The fierce whisper at Remus's ear makes him shiver. "What is the first thing a werewolf should learn, Lupin?"

Remus breathes hard through his mouth, his cock rising with every word the other man speaks.

"I think he should learn that he is _not_ in control, that he has nothing but filthy urges, that his body is _contaminated_."

Oh, he's hard now, and he knows he should be embarrassed that such words drive through his cock like that, but he's not. He was embarrassed the first time he arrived at this cottage, the first time he came in his trousers from the sound of Snape's voice alone as he hurled insults at Remus, but he's long past that. Now he seeks it out – they both do – as a rare, unguarded moment of release in the middle of a stale, bitter war.

No one else allows Snape the control he craves, not like Remus does, and they both know it. Sirius is his best friend; he would never do this no matter what Remus asked of him, and _God_, he could never ask for this.

He remains silent as a single thin finger trails down from his nipple, slipping past his belly button and through the thatch of hair at his groin before tracing the length of his erection. When it reaches the tip, the finger curls a bit, dipping into his slit and scratching lightly at the sensitive skin, gathering a drop of fluid and smearing it around the head of Remus's cock.

He groans deeply, all his nerves alive and concentrated on that one spot where the head of his cock is moist and thick, aching for further touch and yet delighting in its delay.

"What do you want?" Snape sneers, stilling the finger and leaning close to his ear again. "Say it, werewolf. I want to hear you say it."

Not yet; Remus won't give in too soon. He swallows thickly and raises his chin, glaring at Snape.

With the barest curl of his lip, Snape moves his finger again, down the underside of Remus's cock this time until it reaches his balls. It skims lightly – _no, fuck, too lightly_ – over the tightening skin there, curving around the firm sac as if in slow motion before slipping past it, sliding deeper between Remus's spread legs. Remus shifts his weight, desperate to widen his stance and encourage further contact, but Snape knows that game, and he won't play it.

"Be still!" he commands sharply, and Remus freezes. "Gagging for it, are you?" he murmurs, his voice low and amused. "Where do you want this finger, Lupin? Say it."

Not yet, not yet. He clenches his jaw and fixes his eyes on the opposite wall. Snape is getting annoyed, he can tell. Must be gagging for it himself, Remus reasons, and he has to suppress a smile at the thought.

Snape shouts a new spell without warning, and the bonds anchoring Remus's hands behind his back fly off. With a shove Snape turns him around by the shoulder, pushing him against the wall before muttering another spell, and the bonds reform, this time stretching Remus's arms out wide. The cold wall presses into his cheek and his cock and he winces as his arms get used to their new positions, spread like wings on either side of him.

Snape pushes up behind him and he's already got his cock out, Remus can feel it nudging into his cleft, hard and insistent, and he knows he's won. Snape can't wait as long as he can.

"Say it," Snape growls, his thumb and forefinger circling the base of Remus's cock and pinching hard.

"You say it," he shoots back. "You're the one gagging for it, Snape. You're the one who can't wait to fuck my arse. You say it."

Snape grunts behind him and releases his hold on Remus's cock only to sweep his hand up the shaft and squeeze, his thumb brushing over the tip.

Remus moans, pushing his hips back. He's losing again, he can't help it. He needs this too much, needs what Snape gives him, needs the bonds and the humiliation and a man who _hates him_ fucking him until he comes. He needs it and he can't explain why, and that's the most painful thing of all. Sirius is at home and Sirius loves him and Sirius would never, _ever_ do this.

"Fuck me," he breathes, his forehead hitting the wall and his legs spreading apart. "Just – _God_ – fuck me."

Snape is already prepared, already slick and hard, already celebrating his triumph by shoving himself in and up and fighting his way past Remus's natural resistance. Remus _howls_ and scrabbles at the wall, but the burn is the darkness he comes here seeking and he revels in it, drinking it deep as each inch of Snape's cock pushes inside him.

Snape is large and rough and he wouldn't have Sirius's finesse if he tried, but he has _power_. He thrusts brutally, bruising Remus's hole and clutching him hard by the hips, holding him steady to receive each pump of hips and each slide of cock into his body. His wrists thrash in their bonds, curling around the rope and hauling himself up, back, over, taking Snape in deep and grunting at the force of it.

Sirius would never do this. Sirius would never understand.

"Come," Snape's torn voice rattles in his ear before lips clamp to his neck and a firm hand pulls on his cock.

He is lost in sensation, light charging down his spine and the low thrum of pleasure ripping through his balls. He comes with a shout, his back arching and his hands balled into fists beyond the bonds, desperate to hold onto the moment and feel every shaking pulse that wracks his body. Snape is merciless, his hand sliding through the strands of come even as they run down Remus's cock, tugging too long and too hard until the pleasure turns to pain and he shouts again, his knees buckling underneath him.

Snape wraps his free hand around Remus's waist and holds him up, his cock stabbing deep inside Remus's body and his breath low and grunting in Remus's ear, and he's still thrusting, still hauling himself into Remus's body at a frantic pace until Remus turns his head and swallows.

"Come," he echoes, watching as much as he can of Snape's face as it crumples. "Fuck me, come inside me – _now_, Severus. Come!"

Snape groans deep in his chest, an ugly, mesmerising sound, and when the thrusting stops Remus feels the pulses fill his arse, stretched and aching and now wet with Snape's release. Snape grabs him hard and keeps him in place, shuddering behind him and emptying every drop of come he has into Remus's body.

Remus suspects he doesn't get to do this with anyone else. Remus suspects that if Snape has any other relationships, he is not permitted to let himself go like this.

A dead weight slumps behind him and Remus takes several deep breaths, willing his pulse to slow.

They all think he's a spy, he knows that. If only he could stop coming here and arousing suspicion; if only he could make it five full days without needing Snape's cock; if only he wasn't just as dark as they always thought he was.

Soon, he thinks, the war will be over and this will all be a distant memory. Soon.

***

**iv. resolution**

"You're late, Severus."

He removes his cloak and casts an unimpressed look at Lucius, tossing the garment over a chair and striding into the parlour. "Life is busy," he says with a shrug, the corners of his mouth turning up.

"Indeed." Lucius watches him with careful eyes, a long, thin cigarette between two fingers of his right hand where it lies over the side of his armchair.

Severus lets him look. There is no way Lucius could know; he has enough trouble keeping track of his wife. He drops into a neighbouring chair and gestures to Lucius for the cigarette. He would never admit it, but he is on edge. There is a war on, after all, and he is playing both sides.

In more ways than one.

Their fingers brush as Lucius leans forward to pass the cigarette to Severus, and the burn of Lucius's eyes on him both soothes and arouses him. The smoke washes over him as he takes a deep drag, closing his eyes and welcoming the sense of comfort he always feels in Lucius's home. This is where they began, after all, years ago when Lucius was newly married and desperate for cock, and Severus was simply the latter.

A wispy grey trail snakes into the air as Severus passes the fag back and slowly exhales, letting all his tension out with the stream of smoke. They sit in companionable silence for several minutes, Severus calmed by the slow ticking of the clock and the familiar smell of alcohol and smoke that this parlour always exudes.

"She's out, you know," says Lucius at last, his tongue running absently over his bottom lip. "Narcissa."

Severus meets his gaze. "Is that so?" He refuses to beg, refuses to let Lucius know how needy he is, but there is only so long he can sit and do nothing while Lucius's hair hangs over his shoulders untouched, and while his broad chest hides under the fabric of his shirt. His gaze falls down Lucius's body and he breathes deeply.

"Mm." Lucius's sigh of agreement is like a caress in itself, and Severus is on his feet a moment later and then, just as swiftly, on his knees. Lucius smiles and lets his head fall back against the chair, one hand threading through Severus's hair as Severus unfastens Lucius's trousers and lifts his cock out.

It is long and thick and begins to rise at once, and Severus feels his lips moisten at the sight of it. He bends his head in to taste, wet tongue slipping between his lips and sliding lightly up the length as Lucius becomes fully erect, his fingers gripping more tightly in Severus's hair. There is a moan from above him and Severus pops the head into his mouth. This is his favourite part, the feel of a hard Slytherin cock between his lips, the beginnings of fluid seeping over his tongue as he teases Lucius, lapping it gently and taking deep breaths through his nose to get at the irresistible scent.

He would never do _this_ to Lupin. There is this, and then there is _that_, and whatever _that_ is, Severus has no desire to examine it too carefully. It fulfills a need, he will acknowledge that, but the need has more to do with making that werewolf bend over for him than it does with any real sense of feeling or obligation.

Not like with Lucius.

Above him Lucius gasps his name, a throaty whisper that goes straight to Severus's own rapidly hardening cock, and he can't go as slow as he wants anymore. He pulls back to lick his lips and then plunges down, taking Lucius swiftly and completely into his mouth. He can't quite reach the base, Lucius is too long, but he lets the cock hit the back of his throat before he relents, bringing a hand up to wrap around the slick shaft to make up the difference.

He knows how to please; he knows exactly the amount of pressure and wetness and swirling tongue that Lucius needs in order to come as hard as possible, and Severus uses all his knowledge now. He plants his free hand against Lucius's thigh, the thumb angled down to trace over Lucius's balls at just the right time. The sweet slide of that cock in and out of his mouth arouses him more than almost anything else they do, and he groans around it, letting Lucius feel his pleasure.

Too soon Lucius is coming, without verbal warning, his hand tight in Severus's hair to push his head in deep. His cock pulses hard and jerks in Severus's mouth, spilling thick come over his tongue and down his throat, and he works quickly to swallow each wave as he grips Lucius's thigh with one hand and sweeps up his cock with the other, milking every last drop.

When Lucius at last releases his head, Severus falls back on his heels and then further, letting his back hit the nearby sofa as he spreads his legs on the floor and tears open his own trousers.

"_Yes_," Lucius hisses, his eyes hooded and his spent cock lying sated in his lap as he watches Severus's every move. Severus is so close; sucking Lucius's cock always does this to him, makes him hard and desperate to come even before Lucius is finished, from the taste and the smell and the sheer taboo of the act alone.

He pauses just long enough to lave his tongue across his palm, letting the remnants of Lucius's come coat it, and then he grips his cock tightly and pushes it through his fist. He comes with only a few frantic jerks, his eyes on Lucius, memorising that fall of hair and the way those aristocratic features soften in the twilight as Lucius watches Severus fist himself.

Come spurts from his cock and spills over his hand, and Severus is forced to close his eyes and lose his view of Lucius as pleasure jolts his body, making his hips buck up and his toes curl in his boots. As the shudders subside, he opens his eyes again to find Lucius breathing deeply and smiling at him. He waves a hand over his own groin and then Severus's to clean them, and picks his cigarette up from a nearby silver ashtray.

It is almost out, and he has to pinch it between his thumb and forefinger to inhale the last bit of smoke. Severus stands and moves back to him, leaning over the chair and brushing his lips against Lucius's, taking the smoke into his mouth as Lucius exhales. The rest of it rises between them in curls of silver, and Lucius kisses him.

"You'll do anything for me, won't you, Severus?" he murmurs, his voice deep and tinged with the grey of the cigarette, and Severus leans in again to suck at his bottom lip.

"Mm," he replies, because of course he will. That has always been the easy part.

Lucius reluctantly turns his head away, stamping out the fag. "I've discovered who it is she's meeting with," he says, his voice quiet but full of menace.

"Ah." Severus rises up again and returns to his chair, stretching his legs out in front of him.

"Not of concern to you, of course, but it _is_ rather a problem for me. You understand," Lucius adds, sighing dramatically. "It is rather uncouth for my wife to be taking Gryffindor cock every week, wouldn't you agree?"

_Gryffindor_. Severus's eyes narrow. "I would."

"Perhaps you can help," Lucius says, his eyes flashing and his voice silky. "If, of course, you really would do anything for me…"

Severus leans back in the chair and folds his arms over his chest. As if there was any question. "Of course," he replies, the image of Lucius's face in orgasm still drenching his mind. And he believes it; after all, if he's lucky, the Gryffindor in question might even be Lupin, and that would solve that problem.

Lucius leans forward, elbows on his knees in earnest as he looks Severus straight in the eye. "Tell me, Severus," he begins, "what do you know about a certain prophecy?"

 

-fin-

**Author's Note:**

> The non-parenthetical part of the title comes from a movie of the same name, the plot of which bears less than zero resemblance to this one. No infringement intended.


End file.
